The Sorcerer Chronicles
by kenmadragon
Summary: Things are shaking in the City That Never Sleeps. The creatures that go bump in the night are moving about, and blood will be spilled. Enter two sorcerers, practitioners of the mystic arts, who are struggling to make their way in the chaotic whirlpool that is the magical world, struggling to even survive, but somehow, find a way to make everything work in the end.
1. Chapter 1: Prelude to Pandemonium

**Hello World!**

**My name is kenmadragon, and I am new to this wild site! This is my first story, and was written by me and a friend I have IRL who also writes on this site (goes by 'yourarenotright'. check out his stuff). The following story is a cooperative effort between us, though since I am new to the site, I'm posting it for the both of us!**

**I rated it T, mostly because I am still trying to figure out where the boundaries between the ratings are, but I think it's safe to say this is probably in the T range.**

**And seeing as this is a fanfiction, that means, we need a Disclaimer (unfortunately)!**

**Disclaimer: I and my co-author do not own the Dresden Files. Jim Butcher does, and we are merely fans. I also do not own Jackie Hodge, but I do own Arthur Fontayne, and we both own the story.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Most men would kill to be me at this moment, of course most men wouldn't have realized the danger they were in and therefore I would classify them as ignorant and unlucky. I was running across Washington Square Park, being chased by multiple, beautiful, (and by beautiful, I mean freaking GORGEOUS) women. I currently held a carton of milk (fat free) in my hand while I was cursing my best friend, and current roommate, Arthur Fontayne.

My name is Jackie Hodge and I am a sorcerer.

* * *

Before I can really tell you more about this current predicament I happen to be in, I have to tell a bit of backstory, just so you get a feel for who I am, and what I believe.

When I was a small child, both my parents were murdered. Not by burglars,thieves, or any of the more human and mundane things in a normal person's life. They were murdered by monsters, the things that go bump in the night. I was about to be killed myself, when my mentor, no...my adoptive mother got there. She fried the monsters and returned them to whatever hellish place they came from. She came and shushed me, and held me as I begged her to save my mom and dad. She said there was nothing to be afraid of, but there was nothing she could do. Of all my memories that one is painfully clear and sharp.

Anyway either my mother or father had been a practitioner or had wizarding heritage since I had an aptitude for magic. My mentor trained me and after I was deemed strong enough I set out, not to say I don't keep in contact, but the fact that modern technology and magic don't usually mix is a bit of a pain. But enough of that, back to the current situation at hand, the women chasing me.

* * *

Apparently they are a little pissed at me or Arthur (hopefully him, I do not want to have to deal with these ladies) for some offense which I wasn't smart enough to not make. Anyway, back to the chase, I vaulted over the back of a bench and rushed towards the chessboards and moved like a gust of wind. In addition to being a wizard and/or practitioner, I was the athletic type who liked to take walks and jogs through the parks, preferably without angry ladies.

Several seconds later I was running under the Washington Arch, since this was early in the morning, the park was almost completely empty. The only people there was the stray hobo sleeping here and there. This meant they could move without having to hold back, and they moved with an almost ungodly speed. I wanted to open a minor sinkhole, just big enough to slow them, but I don't think I had the time or the current oxygen level needed. They had been chasing me ever since I had left the goddamn Walmart, and I was sprinting since I began running. I neared the apartment and wanted to cheer in relief. I instead slowed and waved my hand at the floor and screamed,

_"Arctis!"_

Concentrating on the energy flowing through the air, I pulled heat into the air, drawing it from the ground. The temperature immediately dropped several degrees...Celsius. Ice formed behind me, covering the ground in a thin layer of frost and making the enraged females slip and slide. I pushed myself eventually finding the small townhome on a tiny side street, tucked away. I rushed for the familiar dwelling, reassuring myself as the feeling of safety washed over me as I rushed through the gate, slid my key into the lock, opened the door, flung myself inside, and triple locked it using our bolts and latches. I breathed heavily and slumped against it, resting my face against the cool metal of the door. In addition for it being metal, it was heavily fortified - the building itself would break before the door fell.

I saw my friend, Arthur Fontayne, lounging on the long couch, a tattered old book open in his hands, looking at me with mild surprise. "What in the world?" he questioned. I flung the milk, which hit him in the face and growled, "Wards. Now!"

I wasn't exactly intimidating my best friend, but he knew I was serious. He glared at me (presumably for the milk) before going downstairs to the lab, concealed behind what was a closet wall. I gripped my blasting rod from my belt loop and aimed it at the door, and watched the front door closely. If they broke the door down, I was going to take one of them down with me.

* * *

There was a slight tapping sound that was bugging me for whatever reason. I tried to ignore it. But then it began to get louder, and turned into a snapping sound. It was familiar, like when someone snaps their fingers. I wondered if they had found the townhouse, and weren't trying to break it down but …tap it down. Okay, now I think I might be going crazy. Maybe they had already gotten to me with whatever mind games those things played. Or, it could be someone is trying to get my attention. There was a hand thrust in front of me, and I blinked. I turned my head slightly, and noticed my worried - and wet - roommate standing next to me. I wondered how I hadn't noticed him, then realized I was so concentrated on blasting whatever came through the door that I had ignored him.

"When I said I needed milk, I didn't mean splashing it all over me. Now, _what in the world are you doing_?" Arthur asked, ever so polite, as if I was merely a child who was acting up. That brought a scowl to my face. As if he didn't already know. He was the one who told me to get the damn milk in the first place!

"I thought I told you to put the wards up!" I growled at him, lowering my blasting rod, ever so slightly. Arthur sighed, shaking his head. Damn it, why was he so relaxed?!

"The wards have been up ever since you left to get the milk. I told you, I forgot the milk when I was getting the supplies to replenish the wards. They've been up since you got here. Couldn't you feel it when you got past the gates?" He responded casually as he turned to head back to his book. I grumbled as I stepped after him, tucking the blasting rod into my back belt loop, within easy reach, just in case. I checked the locks on the door, and felt a hint of satisfaction as I refastened the bolts on the door and heard the 'snick' as they locked into place. I headed back to the closet that hid the entrance to our lab, and hung it on one of the free wire hands, and glanced about as I re-entered our little dwelling.

* * *

It's actually a rather nice place. Situated in one of the low tech areas of Greenwich Village in the City That Never Sleeps, the little townhome had been specially renovated for two rather strange individuals, who seemed to use technology that modern society had deemed long since obsolete. It was rather small, and was painted brown, with mahogany shutters by the white windows. The curtains were drawn, and the shadows that played against them wavered, as if dancing - candlelight. Walking from the tiny foyer, I glanced at the rather comfy living room, with its earthen shades and hues, decorated with soft rugs if various styles and threads adorning the floor, the comfy sofa with fluffy pillows, the rigid backed wooden armchairs with threaded coverings, the little dark mahogany tables upon which were various lamps and candles, casting the entire room in a rather old time light. The walls had various shelves containing more candles and other esoteric objects, like tiny statues, strange devices, the occasional trophy. The walls were plastered with paintings of ancient scenes and various posters from various places. And on top of the mantle, was a small statue of a phoenix intertwined with a dragon, flanked by the portraits of myself and my roommate.

* * *

"You know, we are going to need to get more milk, seeing as this is ruined now." Arthur said accusingly, holding up the leaking milk carton I had thrown at him. I winced, feeling a bit guilty about it.

"Oh well, guess you're going to have to get some more in the morn'-" he continued, then cut himself off as he rushed over to the couch, dropping the leaking milk carton on a towel that had somehow found its way to the table beside the couch.

"The Arcanis Fulminis Crematoria!" he exclaimed, clutching the sopping book he had just been reading. I could tell that it's pages were damp from the milk, and a bit sticky. Arthur rushed from the living room, clutching the book as if it were a dying kitten in need of immediate medical attention. I plopped myself down on one of the armchairs, which creaked as I did. Contrary to what it looked like, that arm chair is incredibly comfortable. I crossed my legs over a plush ottoman and heaved a sigh of relief. Safe.

But there was still something wrong, I could feel it in my bones. Closing my eyes, I went over what exactly had just happened to me. And it was freakin' bizarre.

"I'm guessing you ran into Clarissa..." I heard Arthur call from the stairs. Opening my eyes, I glanced at him, coming down the stairs, rubbing his hands dry with a towelette.

"Yeah, I did," I responded, without thinking. Arthur nodded and turned to head into the kitchen when it hit me.

"Wait a second! How did you know it was... argh! I forgot! They were looking for YOU. Frak, man! What the hell!" I yelled at him, furious. I had nearly forgotten in the chase why exactly those women - if I could actually call them that, seeing as they weren't exactly human - were chasing after me. The leader of the group had wanted Arthur! The details started to become much clearer to me, and I sat up straight, rubbing at my temples. Arthur sat down, a bit unperturbed. That annoyed me. It was his fault I was getting chased across the village by those ...those ..._things_, and he didn't seem to feel bad about it in the slightest!

Finally, after a long period of silence, Arthur spoke up. "So, what exactly did Clarissa want, again?"

"Not just Clarissa, she had about four others with her, maybe five," I replied. I noticed a look of worry cross his face. There was something he wasn't telling me. We had been roommates long enough for me to tell that about him. He knew something, something he wasn't letting on. I let it slide for now. I was too pissed off at the fact that he was the cause of my troubles for the night.

"They wanted information on you, Fonty," I said through a sigh. He winced as I called him 'Fonty', which brought a slight smirk to my rather dour face. He hated it when I called him that, which is why I did. I continued, "They wanted to find you, for whatever reason, and wanted me to get..."

"Wait, did you.."

"Like hell! I gave 'em squat, and when things got hairy, I booked it! They gave chase, but I think I lost them near Washington Square..."

Arthur looked a little relieved, and relaxed as I told him that. But he still seemed worried. I couldn't tell why. What was he keeping from me? After what I had just gone through, what was he hiding that I didn't deserve to know? After a another break of silence, I could not longer take the curiosity, and angrily burst out, asking, "What _exactly_ did you **do**?!"

Arthur sighed, closed his eyes, as he leaned back, and clasped his hands behind his head. "Well, it went a bit like this. I noticed that the place's wards were going to be close to breaking point by the sun rise is a few hours, so I started to rebuild the sigils and glyphs about the place, and try and bolster the boundaries of the threshold. Well, then I noticed that we were out of supplies, and needed some stuff. None of the other shops were open, but the 24 hour Walmart was, so I headed out, and got some groceries..."

* * *

**Ah, the cliff-hanger. It seemed like a good place to end this first chapter.**

**And yeah, it's a bit confusing, but hey, it's the first chapter. And my first fan-fic. So be nice, kay?**

**Read & Review, please!**

_Next time, on The Sorcerer Chronicles..._FLASHBACK! ;P


	2. Chapter 2: Encounters of the Other Kind

**Hello all,**

**kenmadragon back here with chapter 2 of the story! Yay! (hope people are actually reading this, and I am not making a fool of myself. If people ****_are_**** reading, I would expected some reviews - positive or negative - as some indicator that people are interested...)**

**Anywho, this starts out with (as you can read below) a flash back. Yeah... ****_shocking!_**

**o, and before I forget:**

**Disclaimer: I covered this last chapter, but as I said, the Dresden Files universe belongs to Jim Butcher, but all OCs and the story belong to me and my co-author!**

**Now! Let's get back to the story!**

* * *

ARTHUR FLASHBACK

The Walmart was rather plain, nothing really noteworthy about it. I mean, you could count the fact that the cashier on the night shift was clearly not too happy to see me. I could tell she had been hoping for a quiet night, and had a book on the counter as I came over and plopped down the basket, and pulled out a few reusable bags. And yeah, I know they would bag it for me, but I don't like plastic bags too much. They got everywhere, and Jackie would always get them. Then he would just leave them around the place, and I would slip on them. No, I'm serious. It's happened more times than one might expect.

So I waited for the cashier to finish scanning the groceries I needed to bolster the wards for the next few weeks, and pick up some groceries since I was out anyways. The cashier gave me a weird look when she scanned the scented candles. I ignored her, and tried to stay away from the desk as much as possible. I wanted to just buy the groceries and get away from that desk as quickly as possible before they went haywire. Well, my luck was just never that good, and the scanner began to beep, and then the red light died. The cashier swore under her breath, than gave me a quick look, worry in her eyes, wondering if I had heard. I did, but I noticed the slight blush in her face when she glanced at me to see if I had heard her. I pretended like I hadn't noticed anything, and glanced at the book she had been reading. It was a romance novel, one I remember a book seller having said was popular with ladies recently. Apparently a raunchy tale of some sort, I never really paid much attention to the bookseller back then.

I then noticed the computer screen behind the cashier flickering as lines began to cross over the screen. I winced, and tried to concentrate, focus my energies on myself. I needed to control my power, to keep it within. Closing my eyes, I took a few deep breaths, steadying myself and closing off my energy, releasing it slowly with each breath. Control, that was the secret to the regulation of magic. If I could keep it from running wild about me, then I could lower the adverse effects it had on my environment.

By adverse effects, I mean the inability for magic to work well with technology. For some reason, modern technology always seems to foul up around me or Hodge. It has something to do with incompatibility, I believe. Magic always has some means of making it's presence known, and came with it's quirks. A long time ago, these effects just strange effects, like milk souring in the presence of a practitioner, or flames turning different colors, or maybe flowers wilted in our presence. Weird stuff like that. Well, now, it seemed that it just messed up modern day technology, which made living in New York rather difficult. It had been hard enough finding an isolated part of Greenwich village where there would be little technology about, but living in the city was rather tricky. I was lucky to have figured out a means of controlling this effect of magic, though it was by no means perfect.

"Ahem," a small, timid, voice spoke out. I opened my eyes, and noticed the cashier looking at me curiously. She seemed rather tired, and had medium length auburn hair, a strand of which had fallen across her face. Her eyes were a shade of dark brown or black, and she looked at me a bit nervously. She pushed the strand of hair that had fallen across her face rather nervously, and a surge of red crossed her face. She was blushing. I didn't really know why, but women tended to do that a lot around me. It was most peculiar.

"Here are your purchases..." she said, holding up one of my bags, which were now notably bulging with groceries. "That will be 13 - 84."

I reached into my jacket pocket, and pulled out a small wallet. Flipping it open, I deftly took out a few notes, and handed them to the cashier. She blushed profusely again as her fingers accidentally touched mine as she took the money from me. I gave her a friendly smile, which made her blush even more. It was the most curious of reactions, and I never really understood why.

I picked up the bags in one hand, and turned to leave, when I heard the cashier speak again, "Um, your change?" Turning back to her, a smile on my face as I internally laughed at my thoughtlessness, I held out my free hand as she dropped a dollar bill folded around a dime, a nickel, and a penny. Tucking that into my pocket, I turned to leave, when I heard another "Um."

"Um...my name is Christie," the cashier said, a bit quickly. She seemed exasperated, nervous. Her face was red, though the temperature in the shop was regulated, despite the fact that I was the only customer here this late. She looked at me expectantly, and I realized that she wanted my name.

I replied nonchalantly, "Fontayne. Arthur Fontayne." Her face seemed to glow for a bit. Not literally of course, that would be silly. She seemed to think before her next response, but as she was about to speak, I had already breezed through the door, which promptly stopped working as I exited the store.

* * *

I noticed the fact that the sliding doors hadn't closed behind me, and began to hurriedly move for the alleyway where I had left my staff. I didn't want some vagabond taking it - it had taken me a few months to craft it. So I hurried down the sidewalk, and ducked into the alleyway, when I thought I heard a sound behind me.

Not thinking it to be much, I continued to walk into the alleyway, mindful of not stepping on the rotten trash about, as I tried to remember where I had stashed the arcane item. But it was a bit too dark, so I put the bags down, and began to cast a spell to shed some light on the alleyway. It was a simple spell, and I had these sunglasses in my jacket pocket that I had prepared for just such a spell. Taking out the sunglasses, I put them on, and muttered to myself as I activated the charm on the glasses. The alleyway lit up with light, as the sunglasses began to glow like flash lights. It was like my eyes were flashlights, and I could see well enough in the dark to spot my staff.

With a sigh of relief, I took off the glasses, which immediately began to dim and grow dark once more, and put them away. I then strolled over and picked up my staff tenderly. It was a delicate thing. A slender staff made of carved elder wood with various sigils and glyphs engraved in it's surface. I remembered how difficult it had been to merely get the wood necessary for it's creation. You can't just cut down an elder tree, the myths about that are true. There was a reason it was said that elder trees were a safe haven from witches back when the folklore circulated back in Europe in the Middle Ages and before then. Elder trees were guarded by incredible magics, and connected to the magical world as powerful entities. Not only that, but anyone who took something from an elder tree without the entity that dwelled within it's permission, a curse would fall upon them. So, you can imagine the difficulty in obtaining the wood needed for the staff, not to mention the months of crafting it, and imbuing the staff with magic to make it safe for me to use. Besides, it helped remind me of my aunt. She was the one who had taught me how to make the staff. Well, in short, the staff was rather precious to me.

So, it was as I was caught up in the relief that no one had taken my staff that I had ignored my surroundings, and failed to notice the figure that was standing at the entrance of the alleyway. Well, not until I heard the voice, the sweet and tender voice, the sound of angels, call out from street as it walked over, stalking through the shadows of the alley, coming towards me.

"Fontayne?" it called out. The voice, feminine, soft, sexy, alluring. "_Arthur Fontayne!_ It is you!"

I turned to look at the source of the voice, and froze in shock. I slapped the staff into both hands, gripping it tightly, as I recognized the voice and the woman who owned it. My feet inadvertently began to step back, though common sense would have told them to step towards the woman. Well, it was instinct that moved my back to the wall as she made her way over to me.

* * *

My aunt Hepzibah would always say, "When life gives you lemons, remember you wanted oranges". I always assumed that was just her being batty, but in retrospect, I guess it had some truth to it.

* * *

So when I was up against the brick stone wall in an alley by the Walmart, staff held out in front of me, quivering in my boots as the most beautiful lady in the world stalked her way over towards me, I remembered that. Oh sure, it's every guy's dream to have a beautiful girl, walk up to them, and offer them a kiss, especially one like the one before them, especially in the middle of the night after a long day.

And man was this one beautiful. Strike that, gorgeous. Light, fair skin that verily gleamed in the small light afforded by the street lamps, with a luscious figure that would set any man's head a-turning. She was a little taller than average, height boosted by the high heels that clacked against the ground, heels high enough to give a guy ideas, and a short cut skirt, that barely came down the thigh, revealing long, slender legs, that moved with grace. Her white shirt was thin and tight against her skin, accenting her marvelous curves, and straining at her chest. She wore a light blue jacket that didn't seem to do much against the cold, but she didn't seem too bothered. Her features were soft and alluring, with a small, yet full, lips, rosy red, curved in a slight smile, and high cheekbones that gave her a fairly exotic look. Her hair fell over her shoulders and down to her mid-back, raven black with intermittent waves that cascaded from her pretty head. And her eyes, pretty green eyes that were half closed in an alluring manner.

"Damn," I swore, as I tried to keep from staring. But it was hard to peel my eyes away from that lush and prime beauty, who kept getting closer and closer. I could feel my face getting flushed, and my heart picked up it's pace. I knew that it was a bad idea, but my body betrayed me. It was all I could do to keep my tongue from rolling to the floor.

"Why, Mr. Fontayne. I would have thought a charming young man like yourself wouldn't be so shy of a pretty face." the woman teased, her voice melodious, clear as a bell. She seemed to smirk at me, and stepped closer. I drew up against the wall a bit more, trying to hold back my impulses to snatch her and take her. She drew ever nearer, and was soon within a few feet of me, and I could just feel her, taunting me, calling to me to take her. It took all my will not to drop my staff and embrace her in a kiss right then. Doesn't mean I didn't want to, but I knew what would happen if I did.

"Clarissa, if I didn't know any better, I would have thought that you actually care," I retorted, my voice even and cool. It didn't help that I was up against a wall, staff held between me and her, knees shaking ever so slightly.

Clarissa's pretty features put on a pout. "You mean to say, you don't want me?" Her voice quivered at the end, like she was disappointed, her eyes got all doleful like she was going to tear up on me. God damn it. I hate it when a woman does that to me. I felt like going up to her, and pulling her into a tight embrace to console her, and I had to remind myself, over and over in my head, 'Do not give her any chance to get you'.

"Now now, don't cry. I would have to be insane to try and kiss you when I know what you are Clarissa," I said. No matter how beautiful she was, no matter how long it had been since I had been with a woman, and no matter how willing she was to be with me, I knew that it would end badly. Not because my job isn't well-paying enough or that i tend to get into a lot of dangerous situations, but that Clarissa wasn't too good for my health either. Hells, she wasn't even human.

Clarissa's eyes became dangerous at my words, and her brow furrowed with irritation, but it passed, and I could see her passion return, as her eyes closed, and she leaned forward, hands grasping my staff. I stiffened, as she puckered her lips, and stood on her toes to reach my lips. My body screamed at me to let her kiss me, but I'm stubborn, and turned my face so it landed on my cheek. She was warm, and her lips were soft.

She then whispered, softly, "Kiss me, Arthur Fontayne," and moved for the lips this time, when I pushed her off me with my staff. She stumbled on her high heels for a second, and I could see her eyes open wide with anger. They reminded me once more of her inhumanity.

Clarissa's eyes had no pupils, and were sheer white orbs, like marbles spheres, and her skin seemed like silver. I could feel her lust rippling from her, and it was drawing mine in. Clarissa was a White Court vampire. While White Court are more human than other vampires, they can still drain a person's life force and feed by draining their energies through their emotions. It looked like Clarissa was a Raith, and fed on lust.

I took the opportunity to run from the alley way, away from the recoiling vampire, and bolted towards the dropped bags of groceries. Luckily, they were still there where I had left them, and as I stooped to snatch them up, I stole a glance behind me. Clarissa had just come out of the alleyway, and was staring after me, mouthing "Come back. Please."

I ran like hell.

* * *

THIRD PERSON POV

"So," Jackie said as he watched Arthur lean back, "you were cornered by a gorgeous Raith and ran smart move, but all the same you could have played it a bit more smoothly." He joked, "I mean common shoving her away with your staff? Maybe you should have stolen a kiss,god knows you need one. And if not a kiss from her, at least try to see that cashier again, she seemed normal, right?"

Arthur frowned in annoyance ignoring the bit about the cashier, "She was a Raith, Jackie." He grumbled, "one kiss could have made things bad, very very bad."

Jackie lifted his hands in a pacifying gesture, "I know, I know. I wish I could say I knew what you were going through, but I have been much stronger in resisting my baser instincts," he chuckled, but his eyes acquired a faraway look, "and the last Raith that tried that, started smoking the moment she touched my arm."

Arthur gave him a sympathetic look, "You still love her, and from what I know, she misses you just as much and if not, more..."

Jackie sighed, rubbing his forehead, which began to ache, "I can't go back there, Fontayne..."

Arthur flinched, Jackie never called him 'Fontayne' unless he was serious.

Jackie clenched his hands, his voice getting hard and cold as he continued, "She stays where the White Council is, working for them, and those self righteous bastards would rather have you hang around rather than me. I got on their bad side too. They can't justify their dislike at you, but with me they think I am unstable, plus, they don't like the fact I have been rejecting their offer to be a Warden. I think they know it is an act."

Arthur got up and patted Jackie's shoulder. "It's okay, Jackie, go get some rest. We can get the milk later," he said quietly as he walked towards the kitchen.

* * *

JACKIE POV

I nodded and stretched out of the sofa, I could have fallen asleep right there. But I knew despite the comfort, it would suck to wake up unless I was in my bed. I tugged off my duster and black t-shirt as I walked towards my room. I pushed the door open and closed it behind me with a soft click. I pulled of my jeans, hung up my duster, and got inside the shower, the warm water pelted me, it wasn't a lot but enough to slow the headache I was feeling at the moment, soon my headache was gone while my jangling nerves and muscles relaxed. I stepped out and wrapped a towel around my waist and vigorously rubbed my hair until it was dry. I wiped and toweled the rest of my body before yanking on some sweatpants and a light undershirt. I threw myself on my bed and sighed as I rested my head on the soft pillows. God, it felt like heaven.

As I lay there on my bed, head on the pillows, my gaze directed at the ceiling above me, where various stars and constellations were painted, faded over the years. They had been painted on by the place's previous inhabitants, for whatever reason. Now, they seemed in disrepair, but it still made me think about them, even if the New York sky was too full of smog to see all of them. Even these ones were a bit hard to make out, what with the age and how faded they had become, that they seemed to lose their glow (yes glow. How else could one see them in the darkness?), and the various runes and sigils that Fonty had scrawled over the ceiling. Said it was a ward of some sort for sleep. I never really got why, but they did obscure the view.

So as I lay on the bed, trying to make out the stars painted overhead, I began to think back as to how I got wrapped up in this whole "Milk & Raith" mess.

* * *

**Yes, Arthur is oblivious. That should have been obvious. And Jackie has problems.**

**And if you have more questions, feel free to ask! Just leave a review, so we know you care!**

**Read & Review please!**

**We take all kinds of criticism!**

_Next Time on: The Sorcerer Chronicles!_

_Jackie goes out to get the Milk! Things will actually get explained! And what was Arthur _really _doing while he was gone? Find out next time on TSC!_


	3. Chapter 3: Biting Flashbacks

**Hello faithful readers! That is, if we have any yet!**

**we are back with another chapter of TSC!**

**Thanks to mayhem11 for the review, and sorry, this was written before i got your review yesterday. Me and the coauthor will take your advice into account for the upcoming chapters.**

**Disclaimer: seriously, i think i addressed this in the first post. Dresden files belongs to Jim Butcher, and me and my coauthor only own the OCs.**

* * *

JACKIE FLASHBACK

My day wasn't all that bad till Arthur came running back in from his groceries. Sure, I was feeling a bit nervous. I knew that the wards were going to be severly weakened by the next sunrise, and was wondering if they would hold, but Arthur had gone out to get the supplies needed to bolster them once more. I was in the kitchen, getting myself a late night snack, exhausted by a long day of searching for a case. So, it was as I was getting myself said snack, getting out a few slices of bread and the jar of raspberry jelly when I heard the front door blast open. There was a loud panting from the foyer, and I leaned over the counter, craning my head to get a better look. It was just my roommate, who apparently had been running back home. He was covered in sweat, and looked exhausted, for some reason. I reached back into the tiny fridge, and carefully got out the small carton of milk. And yes, we have a fridge - of a sort. It's more of a giant ice box that Arthur enchanted to keep things cool. I never really got how he managed to do that, but hey, if it ain't broke...

So I took out the milk, and poured myself a glass, when I noticed that I had just emptied it. Staring into the neck of the carton, I shook it, and tried to drain the remaining droplets of milk into the glass. I plopped the empty carton down on the counter, and began to open the jar of jelly, whipping up a little blob with a butter knife to smear on the slices of bread. I looked over to Arthur who was still panting as he came into the kitchen. His eyes were a little out of focus, and he was hunched over. He seemed to be shivering, but I guessed it was just the cold New York breeze. I focused on carefully getting the jelly smoothly spread on the bread. He sighed and leaned his staff in the closet as I took another slice and put on top of the jelly-smeared bread.

I took a bite, just as he walked over and grabbed the milk carton, "Finally, now to get those wards up..."

I swallowed, "Hey Arthur, there isn't any milk," I said drinking from the glass and tipping it to him," this was the last glass."

He looked at me in almost horror as I calmly chugged down the glass, "WHAT?" he said.

I took another bite,"Lasht gwass." I replied around the bite, waving the now empty glass.

He smacked his palm into his face, "Jackie, goddamnit! Now I need to go back to the Walmart!"

I gave him a look, "You didn't get more? I told you to get more!" I said.

He frowned, remembering. "Ugh, dammit..." he groaned.

I sighed, I walked upstairs and grabbed my blasting rod,and duster. I looked indecisively at my staff and set of eskrima sticks before deciding I was fine. I put the blasting rod back, thinking I probably wouldn't need it for groceries, and shrugged into my heavy overcoat. Arthur thinks it's a bit much, considering how heavy it looks, and that he says I look like John Constantine with it on,hopefully I don't turn too cocky and start smoking. I walked down the stairs, adjusting my personal shield necklaces. Arthur was grumbling and pouring itself a glass of orange juice as I walked down the stairs. He looked at me as I tromped down the stairs. I grabbed my sandwich as I passed the counter.

"Where are you headed?" He inquired.

"Going on a milk run, someone here should have but I guess I'll have to." I sighed.

He looked at me and in a serious voice, said, "Be careful, Jackie."

"You ran into something?" I asked, a bit worried, I knew Arthur was an strong sorcerer, and usually had the knowhow on how to beat something; If he had run from it, I might not necessarily be safe out there. I reconsidered leaving my blasting rod.

"More like someone." He mumbled under his breath.

I put the sandwich in my mouth and waved and hummed, "mm-hmm."

* * *

I finished my sandwich and hunched into my trench coat as the winds picked up slightly. I swiped some of my hair out of my face before the wind blew right back over my eyes.

"Ventus..." I grumbled.

My air/wind magic wasn't at all that good I barely use it, preferring fire, ice, and force, but it did come in handy on certain occasions. The wind slowed about me and I rubbed a hand over my face, wiping the last few vestiges of exhaustion from my face. I noticed the glowing sign of the Walmart in the distance in the corner of my eye and walked a bit faster, the sooner I finished this the better. As I walked by I noticed a group of women talking a bit, they seemed to glance at me and stiffen. I walked past them and noted the doors for the Walmart weren't working. As I walked in I noticed one of the cash registers was broken and I couldn't suppress a small chuckle. I walked over to the section of the store that had milk. I got a gallon bottle of milk, fat free (Arthur makes a fuss about that) and made my way to the front. I picked up some Trident trilayered gum on my way over and held both out items out the sole cashier. She didn't seem to notice me since was reading a book, but she seemed a bit flustered and her cheeks were a little red. I cleared my throat quietly.

She looked up from her book and smiled, somewhat nervously, surprise clear on her face. I gave her my most friendly grin and she flushed a bright red. I waited as she rang up the two items. I held my magic close trying to keep it from breaking the cash register. I wasn't as good as Arthur was, stubborn ass would never tell me how he could keep that much juice under wraps.

"Sorry to bother you, good book there?" I said smiling.

" T-That will be...$2.76." She said quietly, "And it's no problem, but the book is good."

"Scale of one to ten?" I inquired, pulling out three dollars.

She thought about it, "About an eight point five." she replied as she took my money.

"Really? I'll have to find it at a library." I said looking at the title.

"Um...Well, it's kinda...adult." She tries to say quietly, ending in a slight whisper, as she handed me my change.

I laughed, and she soon joined in, "Right, okay" I say, "I'll try to stay clear of it."

She seemed to gather up some courage, and held out her hand, "I'm Christie, by the way."

I grasped her hand firmly and smiled warmly, "I'm Jackie Hodge, and it has been great to meet you."

* * *

I walked away and waved, stepping through the broken sliding doors and began walking home, when suddenly that group of women surrounded me. They were all goddess-like in their beauty and we looking at me like I was an especially delicious plate of food. One of them was wearing a red jacket that covered a black shirt and blue short jeans; she had blond hair that seemed to lightly dust her pale shoulders. Another was wearing a pair of skinny jeans and red flannel shirt,her dark brown hair swept gracefully from her shoulder. The one standing directly in my way was wearing a tight white shirt, jacket, and a short skirt, with glossy raven hair and an alluring air about her. The last one had straight short hair, and a blue dress that accented the curves of her body. It was strange, how little they were dressed, yet appeared to be indifferent to the cold night air. Yet, their beauty made me want to gasp and hug one of them, but I wasn't some sleazy idiot, and they didn't seem normal. Fighting my shock and obvious longing down, I raised an eyebrow in slight surprise, trying my best keep my cool. As beautiful as they were, I already had someone, and frankly I wasn't interested in anyone else.

"Can I ... help you?" I said in a cool neutral tone.

"Quite handsome and he seems strong..." Murmured the blond, her voice like the tinkling of wind chimes.

"Um, thank you? Look, I don't mean to be rude, but, honestly, I have to get home, and it is getting late." I said and turned, about to walk away.

One of the women reached out and purred huskily, "We simply want to ask if you know about a man called Arthur Fontayne."

I stiffened and immediately wanted to draw my blasting rod and tell them to stay away, but I remembered I left it at home (and regretting that decision), so I needed to play this carefully, I simply loosened my stance and calmly said, "I'm sorry to say, but I don't think I know any guy called Arthur, isn't that a king with a sword?"

The one in front of me stepped in my way, as she stepped forward, she asked, "Is that your best act Jackie Hodge? Aren't you a friend of Arthur's?"

I cursed in my head, " I guess I shouldn't be surprised...If I may, can I have the pleasure of knowing your name?" I said quietly my voice turning low and cold, "Since you know mine, it seems only fair."

"Clarissa, My dear magician." She said laughing, "It is rude that Arthur didn't mention me, I may have to correct him on that. If you would be so kind as to tell me where he is..." She trailed off stepping forward.

"Don't worry," she purred, her voice hypnotic, "we will make you feel such pleasure, are you sure you won't join us, for just a bit?" She reached out.

My will was stretching too thin, if I let up I would be trapped. I backed up, straight into one of her friends, the brunette, who ran her hand up the sleeve of my coat, hand resting on my forearm. I stiffened and was about to twist away but her expression shifted. At first it was a predatory-like smile, but then became shock, and finally a look of extreme pain crossed her face. She wheeled away from me, withdrawing her hand from my sleeve backing away with her features twisted in pain.

"Agh!" She hissed clutching her hand which was blistered and red.

They all glared at me (which would have made weaker men cry like children), and I took my chance as they backed away, "_Ventus Saliet_!" I shouted, my hand pointed down.

They all recoiled, and braced themselves, preparing for a attack, but I was smarter than that. Any single socerer/wizard who attacked any group, would immediately have to be put to death or the white council would have to risk a war with the attacked group. I felt the sudden wave of cool wash against my legs, I was launched into the air on a pillar of icy cold air, the New York breeze turning into a miniature gale about my legs, throwing me into the air. I sailed over the small circle they had made around me and readied myself. I tucked into a roll and used my momentum to turn my roll into a sprint. I began to run, as fast as I could, tightly holding onto the carton of milk.

END FLASHBACK

* * *

JACKIE POV (PRESENT)

My eyes snapped open, the lightening of the sky at the edge of the city signaled the dawning of a new day. I stretched and yawned before shifting out of the covers and sitting in the edge of the bed, looking blearily around. I rubbed my eyes and yawned, glancing at my watch, I checked the time. It was 2:37P.M., and I had fallen asleep around ten, so I got about twice my normal sleep time, I stretched again and walked towards the bathroom brushing my teeth. I mouthwashed and showered and pulled on some jeans before walking downstairs. I rolled my shoulders and cracked my neck as I made myself food. I put some bacon and eggs on a pan and put the pan on the stove.

"_Flamma_." I said lighting the stove.

I pulled out a jug of orange juice and poured myself a glass after shaking the jug hard. I popped some bread in the toaster and waited, occasionally shifting the pan. For sorcerers/practioners we had it pretty good. Fonty had a steady income as a journalist, and I was paid for police consultation and help. Talked to some wizard in Chicago who did S.I., but that really isn't my forte to go full time police worker. I finished making breakfast I was about to sit in the living room when Arthur walked down the stairs, scratching the back of his head, yawning. He looked like he hadn't slept a wink.

"I smell some cooking, can I have some?" He asked sleepily.

"Bacon?" I said offering him a piece.

He nodded and popped it in his mouth and chewed it thoughtfully for a moment before I asked, "You usually ain't up this early, something up?" He frowned, but shook his head.

"Fonty, something is troubling you, otherwise you sleep like a freaking log, so spill. And don't bullshit me here, I can tell if you're lying." I said calmly biting into my toast.

He sighed and swallowed, "It's nothing. I'm heading out...something I need to check up on for my next article." Turning to leave, he grabbed a light coat and a keychain off a hook. "I'm taking the Stallion, by the way."

"Then I am joining you, can't miss out on grilling you. I want to know what wrong." I walked up the stairs threw on a linkin park shirt, duster, and in light of recent events, grabbed my blasting rod and escrima sticks. I slipped the blasting rod in my back belt loop, and slipped the sticks inside a side pocket in my jeans. I grabbed my pass and jogged down the stairs, hearing Arthur sigh.

When I got to the bottom of the stairs, Arthur was gone, door hanging open. Arthur never left the door open when he went out...even if somone was going with him. Its was a habit of his to be the one to lock the door behind him and seal the wards. Rushing after him, I darted outside, pass and coat in hand, but he was nowhere to be seen. Cursing under my breath, sure that he was keeping something from me, I ran around the corner, to where I remembered parking the Stallion.

* * *

Now, the Stallion isn't really a horse, as people naturally guess. It's actually just an old, beat up 1960s Chevrolet Nova, one that has been refurbished, remodeled, and customized beyond factory standards. The Stallion is painted dark grey with a central black stripe, and a black convertible hood. The formerly shiny grill and tire rims are old and rather dull, and the model name has somehow been removed. The interior is polished wood, and the seats are soft cloth rather than leather. From the rear view mirror hangs a carved wood ornament in the shape of a galloping horse. The Stallion.

* * *

Well, Arthur wasn't anywhere near the car. "Damnit Arthur!" I swore. I checked the door- locked. Cursing the fool under my breath, I headed back inside, slamming the door behind me. He was keeping something from me, and I wanted to know what. Arthur had always been the secretive type, but he wasn't much of a liar. He preferred to stay silent rather than lie. So why did he lie? Something was up, but I couldn't figure out what. I plopped onto the couch, heaving a loud sigh.

As I pondered my roommate's strange behavior, and his ruse to keep me from pressing the matter, I was interuppted by a loud, strained whine. The whine became a rather irritating telephone ring, and I groaned. One thing I hated about being a practitioner was that we were stuck with old telephones which came with annoying preset ringtones. I grumbled, thoughts interrupted as I headed for the desk that bore the phone, one of those old style phones with the wheel dials. Picking up the phone, I wondered who would call. Few people came to mind, and I held back a groan when I recognized the voice, despite the crackle of the telephone static.

"Hodge, git yer arse down here, pronto. We got'a sit-chew-way-shun."

* * *

**So, what next? Where has Arthur gone? Who was on the phone? What in the world am I talking about? Find out next time, on The Sorcerer Chronicles!**

**Read & Review!**


	4. Ch 4: Next Stop, Central Bloody Plaza

**Hello faithful readers!**

**We are back with another installment of The Sorcerer Chronicles!**

**Disclaimer: We went over this already.**

**Things should be answered more, and another thank you to those who reviewed. Here's to hoping for more reviews and more faithful readers! Hear hear!**

**O, and WARNING: This chapter may be a little ... ****_bloody_**** and incredibly grim. The focus of this chapter will be a rather bloody and gory scene, so readers are warned. I did give you fair warning about how gruesome some may feel it to be.**

* * *

JACKIE POV

_"Hodge, git yer arse down here, pronto. We got'a sit chew way shun."_

I held back a groan. The voice was gruff, and tart, even over the crackle of static from the phone. The accent was unmistakably Irish, with a slight touch of New Yorker in there somewhere, and the voice was just like the man who owned it- tough, old, and stubborn. It belonged to Inspector Patrick O'Flynn, one of those people in this city who just plain don't like me. I'm not really sure why though, it might have to do with that one time we worked together for this case in Manhattan, a case that didn't really end well. But then, he was a captain, now he is an Inspector, and runs most of New York's investigations from his desk, though he still has his connections. And I'm one of them.

"Inspector!" I said, in as polite a tone as I could manage, "What can I do for you?" I could see him scowling on the other side of the line.

"Ah said git yer arse down here, pronto! Ya wanna keep that pass o' yer's, ya get ta Washin'ton Square park five min'tes 'go! Ya got that?" O'Flynn roared through the earpiece. I winced a little. You see, ever since I got my license as a private investigator, I signed up to be a consultant for the New York police. It helps to pay the bills, and the pass I get allows me access to some of the minor benefits the police have when solving my personal cases. And I'd rather not lose that, it gets me into a lot of places where ordinary folk aren't accepted as easily.

But it wasn't just the threat that caught my attention. An incident at Washington Square park... that was where I had ditched Clarissa and the other vampires. Strange, could they have done something there after I lost them? Piqued with curiosity, I tentatively asked, "Why? What's at Washington Square?"

"Yer spe-shalty! Weird shit! Now, git down here!" O'Flynn seemed to growl menacingly through the phone before the line went dead.

I sighed. I couldn't figure out where Arthur went now, what with O'Flynn calling about work. If I blew off O'Flynn, he would just have my pass revoked and I wouldn't be able to consult for a long time. And man, I had worked my ass of to get that pass. I guessed Arthur could wait, and if there really was something wrong at Washington Square, and it had something to do with last night...I made my decision. Arthur could wait. I just hoped he wouldn't get into too much trouble.

Grabbing my coat and gear once more, I snatched the other set of keys to the Stallion from the kitchen, and headed out. Easing myself calmly into the cloth seats, I settled behind the wheel of the muscle car, and hoped that it wouldn't have engine problems, and took it out the drive, and drove through the picturesque streets of Greenwich Village.

* * *

As I pulled up to the park parking lot, I noticed the throng of onlookers, ordinary folks who normally go about their business not paying a care to the people or things around them. It always amazed me how people could ignore others around them, but whenever there was a sight to see, like a car accident, or a police investigation in process, they all slowed down, and stopped to stare. Pushing my way past them, I flashed the pass at one of the officers standing by a large wall of yellow tape. Stepping through the tape, I thanked the officer just in time to see a new van pull up and park next to the Stallion. I paid it no attention, but if the media were here, it might complicate matters further. Not that they would have any idea what was going on, the police didn't seem to want anybody getting too close to whatever had actually happened.

Well, if keeping the public from noticing things was the point of the matter, it was now moot. Walking down the stone flagstones, a stumbled a bit and began to feel bile in my throat as I noticed what the onlookers had. The entire Central Plaza had been cordoned off, on account of the 'repainting'. The Plaza was splattered in blood. Red ichor in pools and splatters everywhere, and it was fresh. I could still smell the iron in the air, the metallic tinge making me want to hurl.

* * *

Stepping carefully around the fresh marks of blood, I walked over to where a group of men and women were gathered, some in uniform, others in plains clothes, all of them workers for NYPD. I noticed O'Flynn roaring something at one of his junior officers as some people were laying out tape and taking pictures. Patrick O'Flynn is a rather striking man. Squat and rotund, he would seem fat if not for his barrel chest and burly musculature. He was of rather average height, shorter than me though, and had a face that seemed set in a perpetual scowl. The veins in his neck and forehead seemed to be bulging and his face was a little red, which was normal for him, given how angry he always seemed, but they did so more than usual today. He has these small eyes that are somehow rather acute and glaring, a pudgy nose, and a scraggly beard. His short brown hair did little to offset the angry Irishman, though it did show his age, as it was starting to grey and bald a little.

He seemed to notice me, and stopped berating the poor young officer, and turned to roar at me instead. "Hodge! Git o'er here!"

I sighed, and made my way over, making sure not to step on any of the blood. There seemed to be a lot of it. As I got closer, I noticed the source of the blood. Or should I say sources. Several masses, since that could barely be called anything else, lay huddled on the stone of the plaza; around us several more lumps lay in other positions around the crime scene, their cuts had been frozen and frosted around the edges. I pulled on some plastic gloves from one of the forensic team had, and squatted down next to one of the lumps of flesh.

* * *

It was horrifying to think that the mounds of rotting flesh around me were once living bodies, people who had lives. I felt sick to the stomach, but I concentrated on the mound before me, and began to make out the various parts of the body remaining: chest, neck, shoulders, stumps of the arm, part of the hip. There were some ribs sticking out, though it looked as if they had been crushed. The rest of the bones seemed to have suffered the same smashing. There also seemed to be some blast areas where it appeared bullets had been fired, or shrapnel from a shotgun had torn the flesh. I could also see some of the investigators pulling out small cartridges and pieces of bullet shrapnel from the nearby area.

But that wasn't the weirdest part. These weird frosted cuts and the amount of ichor were what stood out the most, but as I looked I realized that I didn't even know what the hell these things were. They seemed humanoid, but with only a torso to work with, I didn't have much to go on. Taking a quick look around, I noticed that body parts seemed to be everywhere. A foot, a hand, some arms...but no heads. Weird. that would have been the best way to identify what exactly died here. There were clearly multiple dead victims, but I couldn't be sure if they were even human or not. How curious that there were no heads about. Normal killers don't take the care to decapitate their victims and mutilate their corpses only to keep their heads...

* * *

Standing up, I went over to one of the men taking the pictures, careful not to be near the camera. If it malfunctioned, there would be fewer pictures to go over later. I asked him, "Hey, you find any...I dunno, _heads_ around?"

"Hells, man, With all this gore, it's a wonder we can even count the number of bodies. But nah, not that I've seen..."

Nodding, I walked over to O'Flynn who was giving me a rather nasty glare. I could tell he wanted to talk to me, so I headed over, scratching my head, wondering what the hell was going on. The smell of blood was nearly overwhelming, and I tried to stop from smelling it, but I soon got used to it. Funny, it was a strange sort of smell for blood. Sure, it had that iron tang to it, but there was something else...something I just couldn't place.

"Hodge! Whut'cha got?" Inspector O'Flynn asked. I winced, brought out of my ponderings as the pudgy police officer turned to me as I approached. I noticed he was a little out of breath and seemed tired. Clearly desk work was not his style, though it fit his rotund form. Generally, police Inspectors wouldn't come out to a crime scene. Well, I doubt this is an ordinary crime scene. It's a field of slaughter.

"Jesus, Patrick, you could have warned me on the phone. What the hell happened?" I asked, rubbing the back of my head as I glanced about at the carnage. Despite all the mess from the dead bodies, it seemed as if the plaza and the surroundings themselves hadn't been touched.

"I told you, it's_ Inspector O'Flynn_ now! And wha' does it look like? It's a damn crime scene! Several cold Johns or Janes, wit' no heads, and mutila-ted by sum sick sonnuva' gun!" O'Flynn roared, spit flying as he did. He seemed riled up, and one of his hands seemed to be clenched about some pendant. A cross I guessed. "Na-ow, whad'ya make uv all this?" he demanded, waving his other hand about, gesturing at the mess.

"Well," I said slowly, "Clearly there was some killing..." O'Flynn seemed to go red, and about to vent with several cusses people weren't meant to know, so I hurriedly added, "and the lack of heads show that someone was interested in making sure the bodies couldn't be ID'd. With all the blood, there isn't likely to be any finger prints, and with no heads, we can't ID the vic's by dental records. Plus, I have no idea what in hell kinda murder weapon could do this."

"Ya sure it ain't...ya know, _your_ kinda problem?" He asked, voice dropping a few decibels. It was still loud enough to hear normally, but for O'Flynn, this was a hush. I shrugged, knowing he meant was magic involved. The police usually don't accept the usage of magic or the supernatural as a problem, especially since they never have to run into it. But, when they have something that just can't be explained, they came to me for 'consultation'.

"I can't tell. It's hard to say, and with the civies around," I said, nodding to the throng of onlookers that was gathering outside the perimeter of yellow tape and the new vans and cameras that were trying to zoom in on the scene, "I can't really use methods your people haven't tried yet."

"Well, what use ar' ya then? Ah, hell wit' it, just stick aroun' 'n see if ya spot anythin' which makes yer services wor'while," he said, shaking his head, as he turned to listen to what one of the forensic investigators was reporting about a few more pieces being salvaged. As he was talking, O'Flynn's face seemed to scrunch up a little, as he was taking some deep breaths.

"Oh, god dam' it! What in _God's_ name is that smell?! It smells lik'a bunch of_ eggs gon' bad!_" He roared.

Then it clicked. The smell from before, the smell I couldn't place among the iron tang of the blood. Rotten eggs. Only, killers don't smell like rotten eggs. But sulfur does. And sulfur isn't very common in it's pure form, so it had to be part of the murder here. Then it hit me. In the middle ages, alchemists discovered sulfur and used it in their experiments. Only the alchemists called it brimstone, for it lined the ground of the Christian Hell. Whoever these dead bodies were, or whoever killed them smelled like Brimstone. That narrowed down the suspects to a very small degree.

Either a demon had somehow found it's way into the city and was slaughtering people, or someone - or more likely, something - was using the powers of Hell.

"_Damn it all_," I swore under my breath.

* * *

**To be fair, I did give fair warning about it being 'bloody'.**

**Anywho, Read & Review please!**

**And next time on The Sorcerer Chronicles: Where in the world is Arthur Fontayne?**

**_Till Next Time!_**


	5. Chapter 5: Hey Taxi!

**Hey all,**

**It's me, kenmadragon, back here with another installment of The Sorcerer Chronicles.**

**Sorry about the wait, it's been a long week. And before I forget...**

**Disclaimer: You know the drill, it was in the first chapter and stuff, we don't own the Dresdenverse, only the OCs in this fanfic.**

**Read & Review please!**

* * *

ARTHUR POV

I ducked around the side of the house, knowing Jackie would try to follow. I guessed he would still be too groggy from getting up to notice I was lying when I said I was taking the Stallion. Peering around the side of the house, I noticed him rush off and head for the Stallion. Hearing him swear, I winced. Tricking Jackie was hard, but there were some things I just had to do for myself. Some things I could trust no one else to do.

Pulling the collar of my coat higher, I shuddered a little. Despite the sun above, I still felt a little cold. Lack of proper heating maybe, but I knew omens. Something bad had happened, and I had to hurry. Strolling down the sidewalk, I kept to the surface streets, pacing myself till I got near the hub of the village. As I walked along the road, I checked the road every now and then, looking at the cars as they drove past. I couldn't get much of a look from the distance I kept, but the car I was looking for was a bit … _distinctive_.

I was well into the city by now when I finally saw the car I was looking for. An old style British car from the mid 1900s, the Ambassador car that was prominent in India towards the end of the British Raj there. But, unlike the standard white paint job on the car, the Ambassador was painted black with a yellow canopy and black and yellow checkers on the door. From the radio antenna, there was a tattered green handkerchief tied to the tip. The windows were fully up despite the pleasant weather, though I could make out the outline of the driver, and the dim plastic block on top of the car that had in big, bold letters "TAXI". The car was moving rather quickly on the busy street, somehow moving faster than the traffic it was stuck in. I smiled and raised my hand, putting a few fingers to my lips.

* * *

_**Fweeeet!**_ I whistled. The Ambassador continued on it's way, though it merged to the side of the road, and pulled up beside me. The back door swung open, and I could smell the musky stench of the interior.

"Hey, hey! Arthur! Good to see you old friend!" the driver called from inside the cabin. The voice was a little husky and warbled, and had a rather exotic accent. North Indian, Pakistani, or Middle Eastern, I couldn't quite place it. No one could, though it had a tinge of New Yorker. But it wasn't where he was from that made much of a difference, so much as the driver himself. "What can I do for you, huh? Need a lift to the nearest club? Or are ya heading to the football game?"

I laughed as I pulled myself into the cab, enveloping myself in the rather comely stench of the taxi. The taxi was old, and the color on the inside was faded. Between myself and the driver was the large seat for the driver and the front passenger seat, and a mesh divider. Still, I could see a part of his face in the rear view mirror. He had these deep brown eyes, that always seemed happy, thick brown eyebrows, and a rather unruly beard that seemed like it was always half combed. His hair was thick and matted, and tucked into a sizable turban atop his head. Turning to face me through the mesh, I got a better glimpse of the driver, and his dark, tanned skin. His skin tone matched his accent, a general area, though still hard to place, but his accent had a slight New York tinge. The driver smirked, as he got a better look of my face.

"You need more sleep, Arthur. Or should I say, you need a woman to give you less," the taxi driver guffawed.

"Ah, Crazy Abdul, your wit never ceases to amaze me," I jokingly replied.

Crazy Abdul looked a little hurt, though I could tell it was a farce, for he swelled up, and put on a face of pride.

"It should. I _did_ graduate from Harvard," he replied.

I laughed. That is surely a rare occurrence these days, but I could only imagine the look on one of his client's faces when he told them his alma mater. No one would ever believe that Crazy Abdul had been one of the top graduates of Harvard University, and end up driving an ancient beat up taxi cab for a living. But the irony of it was rather humorous.

"Yeah, in '73," I retorted, and he laughed with me.

After that short spell, he looked back at me from the rear view mirror, and asked slyly as he drove slowly along the road, "So, where are you headed? Or did you just get in to chat up an old friend?"

"Wouldn't _you_ like to know."

"But I do. I am the taxi driver after all," he responded with a smirk, leading to another shared bout of laughter as the old taxi turned round a corner.

"O, you know, the usual," I said, shrugging. "Gregorio's. And if we could...you know."

Crazy Abdul merely nodded. His hand drifted to the stick shift, a knowing smile crossing our faces as he moved the stick shift into a gear that was unique to this Ambassador car, a gear setting that technically shouldn't exist.

"Here we go, hitting a major throughway in a few miles, and the city should take us from there." Crazy Abdul informed me. I nodded, and gripped tightly at the edge of the seats, and made sure that I was secure in the car.

The old car engine began to sound, and drive itself into a roar, as the taxi cab suddenly jumped through the crowded city streets, dashing and weaving through traffic like a madman, finding impossible openings in traffic and speeding through them at speeds that far surpassed normal speed limits. Of course, this feat would be astounding for any driver, but what made it even more so was the fact that Crazy Abdul was making somewhere around 60 miles per hour on crowded New York streets and intersections during rush hour along traffic. And as he did it, this wicked smile came upon his face like a psychopath laughing at some sick joke. And people wonder why he's called, "Crazy Abdul."

In a few minutes, he called to me, "We're heading into a major street, and it's big enough for the jump. Just hold on!" I held on for dear life, and as Crazy Abdul threw the car through the intersection as the light flashed from yellow to red, my senses began to overload me and I struggled to keep from blacking out as the taxi-cab made the 'jump.'

* * *

The sensations are hard to explain without some background knowledge, or one would never understand them. Well, it begins with one simple principle.

Number one. All things have this sort of... _energy_. Much like physicists would claim that all objects in the universe have mass, so too do they have this energy. Or force may be a more accurate term. Well, nevertheless, the idea is the same, all things exist in this energy which moves about and exists in all things. Call it what you like, but this energy has power. And this power connects all things, and exists behind the scenes, invisible to the human eye and senses. Some people can sense this energy, people like me, people who have the innate ability to notice things around which this normally weak and subtle energy are stronger and more impactful.

It was these sensations that assaulted my senses as Crazy Abdul made that turn, and I sensed something, and was overwhelmed with the sensation of having crossed some invisible marker, and thrown into a raging river in full motion.

Now, take that concept of this energy flowing through the entire world and beyond this world as a given, and we have what people call "Magic". And no, it is not some fancy _'do-anything-I-want'_ thing out there like most would proclaim it to be - most of the time. It has regulations, and restrictions, and tends to be grounded in the real world and other sciences. Thus, the manipulation of magic involves the manipulation of the real world.

However, there are some forms of this magic that involve slightly different methods than most magic users, or 'practitioners' as they are properly called, that involved not the manipulation of the real world, but harness and usage of real world energy. Now, in this case, the energy may not be something common like gasoline or electricity, but thoughts, feelings, emotions.

In our current case, it's the feeling of travel - of going from one place to another. On major roads and pathways, the sense of travel becomes such an integral part of the route, that it has it's own magical energy. Now, Crazy Abdul's old cab is special. It heightens this feel of travel, and boosts it to unimaginable levels. Then, using the energy of travel, it skips ahead by the way all travel is done. It goes from one place to another. Only, in _this_ cab, that travel can be somewhat...

Well, instantaneous.

Not to mention rather overwhelming to practitioners, who can sense the energies being boosted and experience them to the fullest, which is why most prefer traveling through the Nevernever, but that's a whole nother means of travel, and much more dangerous. Despite the daze and confusion and overall sense of being assaulted in the senses by the 'Jumps' in Crazy Abdul's taxi, it was much safer in my opinion than travel by the Nevernever.

* * *

As the cab "jumped" clear across the city along the roads, my mind went near blank. I had to close my eyes and hold tight to the handles inside the cab so I would not be thrown out by the violent shaking. My ears rang, and it felt like the entire world was being taken up, and wrenched dry like a wet towel, squeezed and twisted till we fell out like droplets. I could not scream, for my voice had disappeared, and my nose seemed to have gone dead. My skin felt like it was on fire, and my mind was overwhelmed with the thought of having every single atom of my body being wrenched apart and thrown someplace else.

Then the feelings went away, and I jolted up. My eyes snapped open, and I stared about, trying to get my bearings. My hands were still clenched tightly on the handlebars, and it took some effort of will to pull them off.

Staring outside the window, I noticed we were in a small side alley in the inner city, where there were few people walking about, and fewer cars about either. The place was grimy and dirty, and the air stank of bars and clubs and other such locales. As my head started to piece itself back together, I smiled as I began to recognize the place.

"Well, Grigorio's is just half a block away. Sorry, Arthur, but this is as far as I can get to it. Rules and all that, you know?" Crazy Abdul said apologetically. He wasn't affected by the Jump as I had, but I suspected it was because he was just used to it.

"Thanks, Abdul. What do I owe you?"

"Ah, you always do this. I told you, I won't take your money. Your aunt helped me out, and I will never forget that."

I sighed. I always tried to get Abdul to accept my payment for the ride whenever I got in his cab, but he always refused on account of my aunt. Not to go into much detail about my aunt, but I sometimes get the feeling that I will always have to deal with her legacy, and unfortunately for me, it's a massive one. I decided I would have to let it slide, I was here for a reason, and I didn't think I had enough time to waste.

"Ah, fine. Thanks again, Abdul," I said once more, putting my hands up in defeat as I got out of the cab. The driver's window rolled down, and Crazy Abdul popped his head out the window.

"As I said, Arthur, you're a friend. Now, tell me you are going to Grigorio's to finally use your looks for the right reason, or I swear I will do it for you," Abdul said with a smirk.

I just laughed it off, and waved goodbye as Crazy Abdul rolled the window back up again, and the car started off into the road, driving off faster than it appeared to. Shaking my head at the man, I walked the half block till I saw the sign above a small staircase to a below-ground door.

* * *

**And the suspense continues!**

**Read & Review! Chapter 6 is already in the works!**

_**Till Next Time!**_


End file.
